


Touch

by Indig0



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, They're both trying, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Connor (Detroit: Become Human), soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indig0/pseuds/Indig0
Summary: “This is nice,” he murmurs after a while, glazed eyes staring at the TV screen that he isn’t devoting much attention to.  It’s like the hug at Chicken Feed.  Not just for special occasions, then.  Unless this is a special occasion.  Unless every day with Hank could be.  Which is also possible.(Connor and Hank work out what they need and want from each other, touch on what they don't want, and hold each other through the process)





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [readysetstarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/readysetstarker/gifts).



“You don’t ever walk around without your skin, do you?”

Connor barks a short, surprised laugh. “No! Why?”

Hank shrugs. “I dunno, I see other androids doing it sometimes. At least a little when they touch, not usually full-on naked.”

Connor snickers and shakes his head. “No, Hank. I don’t do that.”

“Okay. Any… particular reason?”

“Well… when two androids touch and interface, it’s a very intimate connection. There’s no barrier between them. Does that make sense?”

“I’m followin’ you so far.”

“And I don’t do that.”

“Right. I was askin’ why, though.”

Connor shrugs and looks up at the gray sky. It may rain soon. “I suppose I’m not… emotionally close enough to any androids to offer that kind of vulnerability.”

The first thing Hank thinks is that that sounds kind of sad. …And familiar, honestly.

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Guess I wouldn’t be too keen on just… layin’ myself bare for anybody else, either.”

“Why not?” Connor asks after a minute.

Hank makes a face. “Why d’you think?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking, Hank.”

“You’ve been around for a while now, Connor. You watch what’s goin’ on. Who would I… do that with? …If I could, which let’s not forget, I can’t.”

“Of course, Hank.” Connor’s LED spins a slow yellow. “All of our colleagues respect you – even Detective Reed, though he’s loathe to admit it. And you seem to enjoy their company as well.”

“Sure, they’re great. Not really on ‘baring my soul’ terms with any of ‘em, though.”

Connor nods thoughtfully. “Would you… if you were an android, would you do such a thing with me?”

Hank stares. “That’s awfully hypothetical for you.”

“Indulge me?”

“I mean… maybe?” Hank grimaces. “It’s not… it’s nothin’ against you, just… seems like a big thing, you know? There’s things about me you might not wanna see.”

“It takes a deep level of trust,” the android agrees solemnly. “I think it would take a great deal of time and acclimation.”

“Right. …And I’m not turnin’ into an android any time soon, so no sense thinkin’ too hard about it.”

Connor nods, and is strangely quiet for the rest of the day. Hank doesn’t push him about it. Poor kid’s lonely though, anyone can see it.

 

Hank doesn’t seem to realize it himself, but he’s quite fond of physical contact. He’ll clap someone on the back, put a hand on their shoulder, touch their arm to get their attention… Connor won’t forget that hug in front of Chicken Feed after the revolution. He’s studied hugs, both in life and in the media, and this one lasted far longer than the average embrace.

He’s not complaining. It was nice. He’d like to try it again, but it seems like an action for special occasions. Instead, he tries Hank’s other gestures. They don’t come naturally to him, and Hank notices right away.

“Connor, that’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You tryin’ to take my pen or hold my hand, or what?”

“I – I was just… I wasn’t…”

“Fuck’s sake, Connor, what’re you doin’!?”

“Just touching your hand!” he blurts out, and silence stretches between the two. “…Nothing more, nothing less.”

After a second he pulls his hand away. They both flinch a little.

“Sorry,” Hank says, softening his voice with some effort.

“No, I apologize. I thought… it was acceptable.”

Hank glances up with a pained expression. “No, it’s – Connor… it’s fine. Nothin’ wrong with it, I just –“

Fowler clears his throat, and they both jump. He’s standing right there, pinning them with his “Work your personal shit out on your own time” look. He’s had lots of time to perfect it around the station. Hank and Connor mumble inarticulate apologies and get back to work.

The car ride home is tense and silent. When they get inside and let Sumo out in the yard, Hank reaches out to brush his fingertips over the back of Connor’s hand.

“Hey Connor – it’s okay if you… I mean… well… just whatever you want, it’s okay.”

“That’s… very vague, Hank.”

“Yeah, I know. Uh… I mean, if you wanna… touch my hand or somethin’, that’s okay.”

Connor hesitates. “You… implied that it wasn’t, though. That it was socially unacceptable. But you often use small touches like that, and I’m not sure what the difference is.”

Hank sighs slowly, sinking into a chair. “Guess I don’t even notice. It’s… I dunno if it’s socially unacceptable, though that’s pretty much me all over. It’s just… not common. Most people go outta their way not to touch each other in any way.”

“I’ve noticed that. And I noticed that not everyone ascribes to that norm. You aren’t the only one.”

“Right.” The older man chuckles dryly, then nods. “…Right, so… so you can do what you want. I just – ‘m not used to it, that’s all. Wasn’t expecting it from you.”

“...But it’s something you seem to enjoy, correct?”

“I mean, ‘enjoy’s’ not the word I’d use, but… but yeah, I… I like it,” Hank mumbles, face red.

“…They are synonyms, Hank,” Connor points out patiently, and gets glared at. “…I like it too.”

“Well. Okay, then. That’s settled.” Hank eyes Connor uncertainly, and the android beams back at him.

The evening continues as usual, without the previous tension. Sumo comes back in and eats his dinner, and Hank heats up some leftover lasagna they made a few days ago. Connor likes to think he can fix Hank’s diet, but the truth is that he’s not a domestic model, and he needs some help with cooking things that are fit to be consumed. Hank doesn’t mind helping, it’s kind of fun.

When Hank flops down on the couch with a beer to watch an old movie, Connor and Sumo join him as usual. What’s different is that Connor’s sitting closer, shy and leaning in but not quite touching.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, face all earnest concern.

“Shit, Connor, I said it’s fine.”

“You said it was fine to touch your hand.”

“I also said do what you want, so knock yourself out.”

“And you’ll tell me if… if you don’t like it?”

“You should know I will.”

“Okay.” Connor smiles, bright and still a little uncertain, and scoots closer to lean lightly into Hank at a perfect 85 degree angle.

After a minute, Hank glances over. “Mind if I offer some constructive criticism?”

“I’d be grateful if you did,” Connor immediately says.

“You’re sittin’ like somebody propped you up and left you to lean. Relax your body. Your backbone shouldn’t be that stiff.”

“Technically I don’t –“

“I know, shut up.”

Connor frowns, visibly rallying to the challenge, and gradually slumps to one side, away from Hank.

“Not bad. Keep goin’.”

Connor slumps more, shoulders drooping, legs adjusting to balance, until he’s leaning at more of a 45 degree angle.

Hank snorts. “Yeah, that’ll do. But you’re goin’ the wrong way.” He slides an arm around Connor and pulls him close. “C’mere, you look ridiculous.”

Connor quickly sucks in a breath as he’s pulled against Hank, then slowly relaxes, his head on Hank’s broad shoulder and an arm slipping shyly around his waist.

“This is nice,” he murmurs after a while, glazed eyes staring at the TV screen that he isn’t devoting much attention to. It’s like the hug at Chicken Feed. Not just for special occasions, then. Unless this is a special occasion. Unless every day with Hank could be. Which is also possible.

“…Yeah,” Hank mumbles, a smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, it is.”

 

 

It becomes a habit for them – light little touches at work that go unnoticed or at least uncommented on, and then staying as close as possible when they get home. It starts with just leaning into each other, but soon they’re touching more and more. Connor especially likes it when Hank plays with his hair, and whispers shyly that he wishes he could grow it longer. Hank likes it when Connor touches his face, brushing his knuckles over a weathered cheek, scratching gently at his beard, tracing the wrinkles that form in his forehead when he thinks or frowns. If it lasts long enough it’s as good as getting drunk, but without the hangover or the sick stomach or the guilt.

Sometimes Connor rubs his hand over Hank’s sweatshirt-clad torso, and seems to enjoy pushing and prodding gently at the firmness and the softness. There’s a lot of softness.

“C’mon Con, don’t be weird.”

Connor pulls away immediately. “Why – why is that weird?”

“I mean – nothin’ good there, just a bigger gut than anybody needs.”

Connor’s mind is working harder than it needs to, overthinking again. “But… but it’s just another part of you.”

“Yeah, too much of me. You know I’ve got some less-than-healthy habits. Like eating and drinking.”

“Yes… Forgive me, I guess I just didn’t notice your insecurity before. You don’t bring it up, which should have been a dead giveaway.”

Hank is deep red at this point, and looking anywhere but at Connor. He mumbles inarticulately and crosses his arms over himself, covering a little more.

“You… don’t have to feel that way.”

A soft hand slides up to lace long, elegant fingers through rough, scarred ones. Hank’s eye twitches a little, but he doesn’t move. After a moment, Connor’s thumb begins rubbing gently against his shirt.

“Look, you – I know what you’re doin’, you don’t have to act like I’m anything good to look at.”

Connor stares at him, uncomprehending.

“…Why wouldn’t I? You – you are, Hank. I like looking at you.”

“Yeah, and you like keepin’ an eye on everything that goes into my mouth too,” Hank snaps, sharper than he intended.

Connor pulls back. “Because I want you to live a long and healthy life,” he says, rather aggrieved. “It’s not about what you look like. Or what you feel like. …I like that.” His voice softens, and he gently slips his hand farther in, between Hank’s arms and his belly. And then he rubs lightly with his fingertips, and goddamn it tickles all of a sudden, and Hank can’t contain a laugh.

“…You’re a weird motherfucker, you know that?” he chuckles, unfurling his arms and wrapping Connor in a tight hug.

“So I’ve been told.” Connor is muffled, but grinning. And that’s that, and it’s fine.

…Well, maybe not completely fine.

It’s so damn _weird_ to have Connor touching him like that, and Hank’s already accepted that they’re both pretty much touch-starved to death. He knows it’s good for both of them, or at least they both love it. But holding hands and touching hair and faces is different. Once it gets to the core of the body, that’s… a different matter.

It’s not like they’re even talking about below the belt. That, Connor hasn’t gone for, and Hank’s not going to be the first. Even if he’s thought about it.

Still, it feels different. Not even bad, as he repeatedly assures Connor, who’s monitoring Hank’s heart rate and blood pressure and probably every other bodily function, of course.

“But it makes you uncomfortable,” Connor frets.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got plenty of hangups. And I said I’d tell you if I didn’t like somethin’, right? You ever known me to keep quiet when there’s somethin’ to complain about?”

Connor grins. “Rarely.”

“Yeah, well this ain’t one of those times,” Hank mutters.

“…So then it’s just a matter of acclimation,” Connor concludes.

“I – I guess.”

And Connor’s hands slide immediately over him, fingers rubbing gently into him, face resting on his chest. “That’s certainly something we can work on.”

Hank sighs a little shakily. “I guess so.”

So that’s fine, that’s just fine, Hank can get used to it, and it’ll all be fine.

Until the next thing comes up.

Connor picks up one of Hank’s big hands one night, and runs his gorgeous fingers all over it, and that’s fine. That’s pretty nice, actually. And then he brings it up to his face and presses his lips to it.

Hank doesn’t know what to do. He just sits there, frozen, while Connor’s lips ghost over each fingertip, his knuckles, the webbing between thumb and fingers, his palm, the vein that bulges on the back of his hand… And as he watches, it’s almost like Connor’s lips are glowing. He inhales shakily.

“Are you all right?” Connor murmurs, right into his palm so he can just barely hear it.

“I – I – yeah. Fine. Yeah. Um.”

“Is this too much?” Connor pulls back, but holds Hank’s hand close to his chest. Hank can feel the pumping of thirium.

“N-no. I mean, kinda. Just – I mean, you… you know what… kissing… is about, right?”

The look Connor gives him could wither a whole head of lettuce. “Hank, my social programming is highly advanced. I’m well aware of the purpose and implications of kissing.”

“…Well!? The hell’s this about, then?” He gestures a little with the hand Connor’s still holding, but not enough to pull it away.

“Well, a kiss can be exchanged with any loved one, whether family, romantic partner, or even friends in some cases. Some European cultures greet others with kisses on the cheek –“

“Connor, what are we?”

Connor looks up at Hank quickly. The older man is gripping the arm of the couch with his free hand, his knuckles are white, but the one Connor holds is limp.

“I – I hadn’t thought to label it just yet. I know that you’re my partner. My friend. But those aren’t mutually exclusive to something else, are they?”

“No.” Hank swallows thickly.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I – I wish you’d just fuckin’ do it instead of asking about it!”

“What do you want us to be?”

“That – that ain’t for me to decide alone, Con, I’m not gonna –“

“But if neither of us will say on our own what we want, then how will we know?” Connor reasons.

Hank stares at him. His face looks calm, serene, but his LED is whirling yellow. “You’re doin’ that masking your feelings bullshit again.”

“I might say the same to you.”

They stare at each other. Connor is the first to look away.

“You already know you’re the most important person in my life. That I love you.” He looks back up in concern. “You know that, right?”

“I… well… yeah, I mean… yeah.” Hank can’t seem to get the words out the way he intends to. “I… and you know… you know I… me too… right?”

Warmth breaks over Connor’s face, and he nestles into Hank’s chest, one hand still holding Hank’s, the other splayed out over his stomach. “I know,” he whispers.

 

 

And of course the kisses migrate, Hank knew for a fact that they would. If you told him a year ago that he’d be on the couch making out with an android like a teen with his first crush, he’d say you were insane. But that’s what happens most nights, now. They kiss and hold each other and usually end up in bed, a tangle of limbs under whatever blankets Connor can pull over them. And Hank hasn’t been this happy in years.

Fowler’s noticed, and… he probably knows why, but he’s kind enough not to say anything. That, and he doesn’t have time for that kind of personal bullshit, even from an old friend.

And over time, that… lip-glowing thing becomes more noticeable.

At first Hank thought he was just dazzled by… well, by Connor. But no, it’s bigger now. A full six inches of his face turns white and shiny when he kisses Hank.

“You feelin’ better in your own skin these days?” Hank asks fondly one night, stroking Connor’s hair.

“Hmm.” Connor hums in contentment.

“It’s… kinda cool to see that, I have to say. Just… just you, without anything covering you. Makes me wish… I could do that too. For you.”

Connor’s eyes fly open at that, and he sits up straight. “What?”

Hank frowns. “You’re – I mean, you know, right? Can’t you feel it?”

“No. No, I – I’m sorry, I… I wasn’t aware.” Connor scrubs at his face with his hands, sitting back.

Hank watches him for a few moments. “You don’t like it,” he says softly.

Connor winces. “It’s… unfortunate that it’s out of my control.”

“Can you do it when you want to?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay, but can you?”

Connor closes up completely. His legs press together, away from Hank, and his arms fold neatly around himself. He won’t meet Hank’s eye. “No,” he says very quietly.

“…Hey.” Hank pats his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I was just askin’. For the record, it doesn’t bother me. Don’t see what’s so weird about it, it’s just one of those android things. But we don’t have to talk about it.”

Connor utters a long, drawn-out sigh and presses back into Hank’s side.

“There ya go.” Hank pulls him close, almost onto his lap, and kisses his hairline. “You’re okay, kid. Take it easy.”

“It just feels wrong,” the android whispers. “Unnatural. I feel… naked. Vulnerable.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel. I prefer to keep my clothes on, thanks, and I can’t imagine goin’ around without my skin. But… but when I first saw it, it was just a little, and it was like… like you were… glowing where you touched me, and I just…” He shakes his head. “I dunno, I liked it. But I’m not gonna force you into somethin’ you don’t want.”

“I wish I didn’t do it,” Connor whispers, almost too quiet for Hank to hear. “But if I have to… it makes sense that it’s with you.”

Hank smiles, laying his head on top of Connor’s. “Can’t say I’ve ever had a bigger honor.”

Connor closes his eyes and presses into Hank’s soft warmth, and Hank curls around him, each thinking that the other has it better… but that either way they have each other to hold onto, so maybe they don’t have it too bad, either.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping overnight in the airport, but I kind of love it anyway. Happy late holidays to [Dev!](http://deviant900.tumblr.com/) Sorry you had to wait!


End file.
